Brotherhood of Fire (12 page)

No more hesitation, no more justifying why this should be wrong, why they should not have done it. Anxiety that she wasn't at all ashamed or embarrassed replaced her former emotions of guilt, and she found herself wondering if their situation could be made permanent.

Permanence . . . something Garrett had never said he wanted, never said would happen, and neither had John. Sitting here on the porch swing snuggled into her husband's steady warmth, his constant shelter and strength, she felt her guts twist in a knot over the idea that John would be leaving, going home. Just like they were. To their own homes. Their own lives, their own beds.

When would he be in hers again? Even more, how long would it be before they had another chance like this, to spend every minute together? Another year? The thought crushed the flame of need that flared up every time she thought of how the three of them had fallen into such an easy rhythm. Not just the sex, but all of it. Sitting and talking, laughing, going about the daily business of doing what needed doing. Like they were made to do this.

The fear of having that all the time was the exact reason she had crawled quietly out of the bed when she woke up and found herself alone with him. The temptation to kiss him, snuggle into his warmth, terrified her, and she had sought out the safety of her husband's familiar strength instead. It was too easy to want something she didn't know if she would ever have.

The screen door banging closed jarred her from her thoughts, and she felt as much as heard Garrett's deep base voice in his chest where her head rested.
"Morning."
"Morning."
John's sleepy appearance didn't do a damn thing to stop her body from jumping to attention at the sight of him. The messy hair only reminded her what it felt like wrapped in her fingers; the beard stubble sent a thrill through her belly as she remembered it chafing her thighs only a few hours ago.
"I'm going to head out after some coffee. You guys need help packing up?"
Her belly plummeted back to earth at his words. Besides the slight nod to Garrett, he continued to stare out into the landscape just like she had been.
"No, we're good. You want to miss the traffic?" Garrett didn't seem to notice her tension, her inability to breathe now that the exact moment the weekend was ending came crashing in.
"Yeah, have to get some things done when I get back too. Figured it'd make more sense just to go instead of dragging it out."
He glanced at her briefly as he turned, and the look didn't do anything to get rid of the dullness that settled into her. Eyes hard and barely acknowledging her, he shifted his attention to Garrett. "You staying the rest of the day or heading back?"
The uncharacteristic way he shut her out of the conversation felt like a door closing. Weekend over, thanks for the fun, see you around.
"We'll take our time and get things together, no rush, but I don't want to wait around 'til all the other hung over morons decide to hit the freeway. We won't be far behind."
John nodded, running his hand over his stubble. "I'm going to hit the shower."
The screen door banged the same as when he exited. Just like her heart was banging in her chest.
"Didn't seem like an invitation for one last go."
Her stomach lurched again. The man she loved joked they couldn't have sex one more time, while her heart felt like it was being torn in two over something she'd never wanted to begin with.
"I'm tired anyway. I just want to clean up and go home."
She
was
tired. She
did
want to go home. Go home and pretend she could shut her emotions off and go right back to the regularly scheduled program like the two of them seemed to be able to do.

Carrie walked into the back door of the station house and threaded her way through the trucks in the bay as she sent a text to Garrett. The idea of just walking into the living area never made her comfortable. It felt like walking into someone's house unannounced. A house full of men. It wasn't just the chance she might see someone half undressed by accident. Worse would be running into John and whatever uncontrollable reaction she had when she did. The last week had been utter hell, every waking thought a struggle to focus on the present and stop daydreaming about him. Him making love to her, whispering to her. Him in her bed, him curled up sweetly next to her in the morning, arm wrapped around her.

Him leaving, without a word to her personally.
The bay was quiet, but the trucks were all parked in their spots, which meant the guys were either all doing busy work or filling time. The fire house always had busy work to be done, trucks to clean, equipment to check, the station house to keep stocked and in order, things to fill the down time when there were no calls. She hit send, then headed back toward the door, feeling odd standing around in the bay by herself.
Rounding the back of the pump truck, she uttered a small, shocked cry as she slammed full on into a wall. A thick, immoveable wall of bare, warm, chest muscle and two hard as steel arms to go with it.
If the familiar scent didn't break through her shock, the low whisper managed to do it.
"Shh, it's just me. What are you doing here?"
Without warning, she felt herself being yanked into him and pulled into a dark corner at the side of the truck. Letting go of all the reasons she should back away, apologize, turn, and leave, she allowed herself instead to sink into him. The tense stance melted from her, relief and anguish both flooded her, clouding her thoughts.
His skin felt warm and damp, and he smelled of soap. The momentary luxury of feeling him against her soothed the ache until she remembered where they were, who they were. Guts twisting, she tried to pull back, reminding herself this was not her place. John didn't belong to her, and no matter the personal boundaries that had been crossed in their bed, as a man, he still officially occupied the slot as Garrett's friend, Garrett's mentor. Lover or not, he'd packed up and left the cabin like they had barely shared anything but a few moments in a bed, and he hadn't looked back.
Tears welled up. She turned her head away, trying to slide out from under his arms. Not letting go of her, he cupped her face and lifted her chin. Before she could take another breath and in the middle of the fire station truck bay, John captured her lips in a searing kiss that held the same pent-up energy that had simmered in her for nearly a week. He shook against her as he took her mouth, diving into her before he ripped himself away with a loud sigh.
"Sorry."
He loosened his hold on her, looking around the side of the truck.
Sniffing as silently as she could, she willed the wetness not to spill, not to give away her state of mind. Anger welled that he so easily yanked her emotions back and forth. That he bounced between giving her everything and then taking it all back just as quickly.
But the anger didn't stop her desire, her need, her wish to just stand here close to him, breathe him in again. Her fingers strayed to the placket of his uniform shirt, unbuttoned and hanging open. The ridges of his tight abs heaved slightly beneath it, and flashes of that smooth, tanned belly sliding against hers fired her blood. Her knuckles grazed his warm skin as she picked at a button absentmindedly. Blinking back more tears, she fought the urge to throw herself back into him. As much as he'd possessed her body sexually, all she wanted right now was his comfort, his steady calm. Words she couldn't hear. To know he wasn't just a piece of her past, an experience they had shared that was over and done with.
"Carrie? God I'm sorry I didn't mean to . . . ."
She looked up, surprised at the roughness of his voice. The tears didn't dissipate as she'd hoped, but at least they didn't spill.
"Shit, you're crying." He looked confused, gauging if it was his actions that caused her flood.
"It's not you. Not this, I mean. I—" She let out a hiccupping sigh. "I missed you. You just packed up and left."
His eyes went wide, and instantly she felt his strong arms folding her back into his chest. He breathed into her hair, sheltering her head beneath his chin, wrapping his arms firmly around her.
"I didn't know what to say, what's in my head, I can't—"
"Carrie! Fuck, John, what the hell are you doing?" Garrett asked in a harsh whisper. He'd come around the back of the truck and run smack into them, much the way she had John.
Her heart fell to the bottom of her stomach.
"She's upset, Garrett." John pulled her back to look in her face again.
"Let her go, John, someone might see you."
John expelled a rough breath, one of those exasperated male warnings. He didn't let her go. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders, using the other one to run through his hair in a frustrated tic. The odd reversal of their postures hit her; John held her protectively at his side, pulling her slightly back from Garrett while he leaned forward, his eyes dark and angry. Garrett leaned toward John, his eyes flashing and just as dark, looking like he was a hair's breadth away from reaching out and yanking her away from him.
John shifted back on his feet, loosening his stance, giving his submission.
"I know that, dick head, but right now don't you think whatever the fuck is wrong with her matters a little more? She's upset. Christ, Garrett, you wanted this shit, now you want to pretend there's not going to be any consequences to deal with?"
"I didn't think it would mean you wrapped around my wife right here in the god damn truck bay! Where we fucking work!"
"Stop it! Both of you!" She yanked free of John and stepped back, glaring at them.
"You know I came to see
you
, Garrett. I ran into him, okay?"
Garrett sighed. A look of concern replaced his anger, but it didn't stop the churning in her gut.
"I can't stand this anymore! Garrett, you wanted this so much, and I warned you! I told you this might end up being complicated, and it is, okay? I can't help it. I'm just not wired like you guys to forget about how this feels like it's done and over when we climb out of bed. I already liked John, then you . . . you . . . ." She shook her head, looking around and realizing she was blaring out the most intimate details of their life and the tryst they had entered into to the entire empty—she hoped—truck bay.
His face set in a grim line, Garrett pulled her into him much the same way John had, and his solid comfort washed over her. He leaned back into the truck and surrounded her with his body.
"I know, I know. I've been watching you struggle with this all week. I could see you twisting up, but what pisses me off is you held it in, you didn't talk to me. Maybe you need to tell me what's going on in your head so we can deal with it."
"I don't know how to define what I want, but this means more to me than a weekend fling. I miss how I feel when we are all together. We never talked about where we would take things, but I don't want this to be over."
A low sob wrenched from her chest, and she felt warm hands on her back. John's. His touch sent a fresh round of tears welling to her eyes, tears of hopeful relief.
"We need to take this somewhere else. John?"
"Yeah. You're right."
Garrett stiffened and stood upright, setting her back from him. He looked to her, then John.
"I'm not an idiot. I can see you both want more, and it's been twisting you up. I've kept my mouth shut, but I'll tell you, it stings. My wife and my damn best friend and neither one of you can tell me what you're thinking after all this. You think I didn't want more, that it wasn't great for me too?" He closed his eyes and rubbed his jaw. The strong fingers that she knew so well . . . the slight scruff on his chin she laughed at because it grew so quickly and he constantly bitched about shaving so much to keep up to fire department regs . . . the familiar things she loved about him struck her, reminded her he wasn't going anywhere. She should have known to open up. There was no betrayal in her feelings. He'd instigated them being together. If she couldn't tell him, then who could she turn to?
"I'm sorry." Wiping the tears away, she pulled herself together. "I didn't know what to do with how I feel, Garrett; I still don't know. It's not like we've ever done this before." A small, cynical laugh bubbled up. The grin that slowly emerged on Garrett's face shoved away all the other concerns.
"I know. My fault too; I should have thought ahead a little. I didn't think it would be complicated. Doesn't seem like it should be hard to figure out hooking up and having sex, does it? Hell, if you both wanted more time for us all to be together, all you had to do is say so. It's not like we haven't already gone there, we don't need to make a big fuss if we all want to be together again."
A flash of anxiety rose up at her husband's words. Looking up at both of them, she tried to read their faces. John's was dark, his thoughts were obviously swirling, but he kept what was on his mind hidden, guarded. Garrett was easy. Sex—that's what he was thinking. He clearly took her emotional outburst as fear of admitting she wanted them both back in her bed. If this at least brought them back together, the rest of her tangled emotions could wait until a better time to be aired. Fighting for words, she struggled with what to say.
John rescued her. "Safe to say we aren't looking for this to end, so let's just go with it, do what we want."
Garrett nodded in agreement. "I'm off shift, you are too."
"My apartment is closest." John's eyes sparkled as he looked from Garrett to her. "Carrie?"
Swamped with confusion, words failed her again. Faced with the truth that she wanted more than just the two of them naked, she didn't trust her tongue to find a way to agree without betraying her true thoughts.
This time, Garrett stepped in and saved her from having to figure out what to say as he laughed at John. "Impatient much?"
John blushed and reached down to start buttoning his shirt. "You're the one who let me loose. You figure a couple times was going to do it?" He gave a nervous laugh, still not looking up. "Do we figure out some kind of arrangement? Hell, I don't know."
Garrett crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head. "I don't know."
She took a deep breath, watching the two as they stood there silent. No way they weren't all thinking the same thing, but the two men couldn't seem to manage to spit it out. It would have been funny if it wasn't so damn important. John's sweet hesitation and the way his emotions betrayed how much he wanted this filled her head and pushed her past the fear of speaking up.
"You two are supposed to be the dominant ones? We can't go to his apartment and just stay there. Someone would notice."
They both focused on her. John's gaze was intent and concerned, Garrett's looked confused.
"Okay, look, I like waking up with both of you. I don't want to just do a quick— hell, what do you even call it? I want us to be like we were last weekend. Is that bad, is it just me?"
"No. It's not."
Garrett shook his head.
"Then we have to be at our house. Come and stay with us until we figure out what we want from each other . . . a day, two, however long it takes." A rush of air escaped her lungs as the two men looked at her. "Well, someone needed to say it. You guys obviously can't."
Garrett grinned. "Okay, yeah, what she said. You in?"
"I'm in." John grinned. "Nothing's easy with you, is it?" He did a quick look around the bay, then leaned down and planted a firm kiss on her mouth. "Better?"
She smiled, at them both. A real sense of calm filled her. "Much better."